Winter by 7ala Abdullah

The wind doesn’t know which way to blow,says ‘guide me’ to the trees, but even they
won’t listen. Even they feel hollow inside
sometimes. Even they have their pasts carved
into their trunks, every struggle written on their
skin, but they forget.
This is a disaster.
The wind doesn’t know which way to go.
A storm is coming. The storm says:‘I’m here to take you home’.
Yesterday you believed it. Today you’re a little
more sceptical. Today you ask it where ‘home’
is but it changes the subject. Today you grab
a map, hold it to its face and demand an answer.
You are standing and the wind is holding your
hand – wants to go home too, wants to leave.
The storm says:‘I’m here to take you home’.
The wind says ‘guide me’, but you don’t know
and you don’t listen, can’t listen, its pleas
making your head spin.
Today it is a year later.
Today it is winter again.
The wind is lost and you are too. There is a storm
inside of you and outside of you. It said it would
take you home. It said it would take you home
and you’ve only been going around in circles.
It said it would take you home but you’re just
realizing it doesn’t even know what ‘home’ is.